


and now i'm falling hard (without you here tonight)

by pyrrhicwars



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Ambiguous Relationship, Angst, Angst without a happy ending, Canon Universe, Hurt No Comfort, Keith/Lance (Voltron) Angst, Lance (Voltron) is a Mess, Lance (Voltron)-centric, M/M, Mentioned Keith (Voltron), Mentioned Lance's Mom (Voltron), Pining, Pining Lance (Voltron), Post Season 3, Yearning, is that a tag ??, no beta we die like men, this is just lance angstily yearning for keith what else can i say
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-09
Updated: 2021-01-09
Packaged: 2021-03-13 04:07:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,431
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28647291
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pyrrhicwars/pseuds/pyrrhicwars
Summary: “Love hurts,” his Mama had told him once, a gentle smile on her lips and a distant look in her eyes, “But that’s what makes it wonderful in all the cruelest ways; it hurts, and yet we stay.”Lance hadn’t understood it back then, still lost in the idea of an ideal love; one that only existed in the diluted imaginations of a child—but he had been a child then, still lost in the delusion of love fixing everything. He had huffed while his Mama laughed, ruffling his hair as she returned to the book in hand.Love hurts, his Mama had said and he didn’t believe it then; didn’t understand it then—But now, lying here in a bed that isn’t even his, wrapped up in a jacket that he had once mocked only for it to pathetically become the last link he has to the boy he loves, Lance understands.
Relationships: Keith/Lance (Voltron)
Comments: 8
Kudos: 41





	and now i'm falling hard (without you here tonight)

**Author's Note:**

> My first work in the Voltron fandom — and AO3 in general — and it’s Lance pining for Keith post Keith’s departure to the Blade of Marmora while the situation of their relationship remains ambiguous… If this doesn’t speak volumes about who I am and what I’m like, I don’t know what does tbh.
> 
> Anyway, angst go brr.
> 
> Title is from “Walked Through Hell” by Anson Seabra.

* * *

This is pathetic.

It’s one in the morning, Castle Standard Time, and Lance can’t sleep. He’s tried everything; the tea-like substance Hunk got from the planet they saved last week, his once relaxing face masks, walking around the Castle, he’s even tried wrapping himself in Keith’s jacket. Nothing’s working and he’s left tossing and turning in bed, trying to ignore the fact that the bed’s too big and the sheets too cold and everything’s just _wrong_.

Which leads him back to his point; this is pathetic.

Lance shifts, pressing his face into the pillow and pulling the sheets closer to his body. The red jacket that hung onto his frame clung a little too loosely around the shoulders, and the sleeves a little too short, and the hem of the jacket barely reaches his middle, but it brings him a little closer to Keith, so he ignores it. Instead, he closes his eyes, ears straining for the phantom echoes of running water that he knows isn’t here. His hands reach for the edge of the bed and he spreads his legs as far as he can, subconsciously anticipating the exasperated chuckle that he knows just won’t arrive.

It hurts, Lance thinks, not because Keith is stepping down from Voltron, not because Keith is pulling away from them—pulling away from _him_ , which, yeah, he was admittedly bitter about, but because Keith is gradually fading away the same way sand slowly tricks down onto the lower chamber of an hourglass; inevitable, but it drags on long enough that it makes you wonder if there was a way for you to stop it.

How much longer does he have? Lance wonders. How much longer until Keith completely slips through their fingers?

Lance isn’t so sure that he wants to know the answer.

“I love you,” he whispers, knowing that the only thing listening to his muffled cries are the ghosts haunting the cold room. Maybe, in some alternate reality, one where he isn’t a coward, he’d be able to look Keith in the eye when he says it; maybe, if he was lucky enough, he could say it every second he spends breathing and know, without the slightest bit of doubt, that Keith would say ‘I love you too’ and his beautiful eyes would soften and a soft smile would curve on his lips; maybe, if the universe was kind enough, if he had the guts to tell Keith he loved him, Keith wouldn’t have gotten up and left just like that. Maybe.

Maybe.

“Love hurts,” his Mama had told him once, a gentle smile on her lips and a distant look in her eyes, “But that’s what makes it wonderful in all the cruellest ways; it hurts, and yet we stay.”

Lance hadn’t understood it back then, still lost in the idea of an ideal love; one that only existed in the diluted imaginations of a child—but he had been a child then, still lost in the delusion of love fixing everything. He had huffed while his Mama laughed, ruffling his hair as she returned to the book in hand.

Love hurts, his Mama had said and he didn’t believe it then; didn’t understand it then—

But now, lying here in a bed that isn’t even his, wrapped up in a jacket that he had once mocked only for it to pathetically become the last link he has to the boy he loves, Lance understands.

Love hurts. It looks at you and tells you, ‘You will burn!’ and you’ll look him in the eye and say, ‘Then I will burn.’ Because when you truly do love someone, you would do anything for them; you’d burn, you’d heal, you’d live, you’d die, you’d walk through the lowest rings of hell, you’d leave, you’d stay, you’d cling onto them like a lifeline—

And you’d let them go because, in the end, all you want is what’s best for them.

And Lance? Lance has to let Keith go. No matter the way his heart clenches, no matter how his lungs spasm when he turns to look for Keith whenever he makes remarks or jokes in hopes of catching a ghost of a smile only to realize he’s no longer there, no matter the headaches he gets from the flurry of ‘Keith isn’t here!’ he would scream at himself whenever his eyes wander to the corner of the room where Keith once occupied, no matter the way every cell in his body burns and begs for Keith.

Lance has to let Keith go because, in the end, all he wants is what’s best for Keith; and apparently, being with Voltron—being with _him_ , isn’t enough.

Still, Lance is guiltily selfish enough to wish that Keith had a harder time choosing between the team—between _him_ —and the Blade of Marmora anyway. Yeah, this makeshift space family is a little tight and scrappy around the edges, and the pieces all slot a little awkwardly and the image is a little slanted, but shouldn’t they be enough?

No, Keith deserves this; he deserves to know more about his heritage and his bloodline, he deserves to hear the reason behind his mother’s departure and get closure, he deserves to scour the universe and all they can do is prepare themselves for his return and welcome him back with open arms.

Yet, it still hurts.

Lance sighs, turning in the bed and wraps the jacket tighter around his body. If he closes his eyes and pulls himself into his head far enough to lose touch with reality, he can pretend that it’s another one of the many nights when he’d climb into Keith’s bed and wait for Keith to get out of the bathroom, that in a matter of minutes, Keith would get into bed after him and they’d talk until their eyelids droop, and in when a familiar alarm rings in the morning, their limbs would ache from sleeping in such tight quarters and Lance would have to poke Keith till he wakes up because Keith, contrary to popular belief, _isn’t_ a morning person, and then they’d fall into a routine where Keith would roll out of bed grumpily and Lance would pretend that he didn’t find Keith’s bedhead absolutely adorable.

He burrows deeper into the sheets, losing himself in the pleasant scent of leather and the weird mix of sandalwood of the Altean soaps and everything that doubtlessly, infuriatingly constructs an indescribably comforting essence that creates one Keith Kogane. Somewhere, in the back of his head, he knows he can’t forever pretend that this is their mundane routine; that Keith isn’t really in the bathroom instead miles, possibly lightyears even, away and that he won’t be climbing into bed after Lance.

He knows that come morning when the alarm would ring and Allura’s voice will filter through the Castle’s intercoms rousing the Paladins for the day, he would be filled by an existential dread as he realizes once more that he’s in bed alone and the other side of the bed would be achingly cold; He knows that when he wakes tomorrow, his hands would curl around empty sheets instead of the corners of Keith’s shirt in an attempt to slowly wake him up; He knows that upon rolling out of bed, he would feel hollow as he goes through his routine, a routine meant for two people and not for one, and he’d feel lonelier than ever.

He knows that tomorrow, like every other day after Keith’s departure, his shoulders would be stiff and his jaw a little to tight and his heart would ache much more than it ever has his whole life as he smiles and laughs and jokes with the others knowing that there was no remedy to his broken heart, not when he had been the one to break his own the moment he had simply smiled and told Keith to stay safe when he left for the Blade.

But for now? For now, Lance loosens himself enough, and he pretends he can hear the distant drip of the sink while Keith brushes his teeth and he pulls the sheets closer to his chin and squeezes his eyes shut, hoping that when Keith comes in, he’ll gently tuck his hair behind his ear the way he always does when he thinks Lance is asleep.

For now, Lance can pretend. And for now, he’ll make do.

( Love whispers, ‘You will burn!’

Lance looks it in the eye and says, ‘then so be it.’

And so he burns.

But what a way to go. )

**Author's Note:**

> scream at me on [twitter](https://twitter.com/warofheqrts)


End file.
